


Identity

by Linderosse



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: And so is Radiant, And so is Veil, Angst, But then suddenly plot happened, Fluff, Gen, I just wanted to write Shallan interacting with Lift and Jasnah, Shallan is a great person, a small amount of stabbing, identity theft is not a joke jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22907299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linderosse/pseuds/Linderosse
Summary: Shallan blinked, and brought her freehand up to touch the hilt of the blade protruding from her chest.Illusion? No. Ohstorms.
Relationships: Shallan Davar/Adolin Kholin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Identity

Veil strode into Shallan’s room in Urithiru, stripping off her gloves and tossing them to the floor as she walked. Next off was the white hat perched atop her dark locks, then the slim overcoat, and finally off came the illusion itself, turning her into Shallan again. Pattern slipped off her dress and onto the floor as Shallan sat down on her bed, eyes bleary with exhaustion. Shallan unrolled and buttoned her havah’s safehand sleeve. Then she sighed and threw herself back onto the covers.

Drowsiness hit her full force. In the quiet dark of late evening, her freshly washed linens and soft pillows made for a comfortable spot to rest. Perhaps she could nap for just a few minutes…

She was nudged awake by Pattern’s light humming. Shallan sat up and rubbed her eyes. It hadn’t been more than half an hour, had it? She still had a meeting to attend— over spanreed, with Jasnah. Shallan’s eyes were falling shut of their own accord again, so she shook her head to wake herself up, red curls bouncing around like a strange brand of unruly spren.

Shallan pulled her spanreed from its drawer, slotted in a sheet of parchment, and turned the dial. The sphere powering the device glowed dimly in the dark room. Then she uncovered the lantern above her table, casting light onto the spanreed’s parchment.

Or at least, that’s what should have happened. Shallan peered inside the lantern to find it empty, no spheres in sight. She groaned, exasperation filtering into her voice.

“What is wrong, Shallan?” Pattern asked from the wooden surface of her table.

“Veil used up all of my stormlight, didn’t she?” Shallan grumbled, rummaging through Veil’s pack for the evidence. She found the unlit spheres in seconds and sighed.

“She could have at least remembered to trade for lit spheres on the way back. She’s too focused on her job. Almost to the detriment of common sense, sometimes.”

Pattern’s hum of reply sounded a bit… worried? Why?

Oh right, she’d blamed one of her other selves for something again. She was supposed to be working on fixing that.

Well, she’d think about that later. Fortunately, Veil hadn’t taken the sphere that powered her spanreed, just the ones in the lantern. Shallan would just have to find some other way to illuminate the parchment.

The dim moonlight from Salas outside was barely enough to see by, but it would have to do for now. Shallan shoved her desk over to the window, then dragged a chair to it. She still had a quarter of an hour or so before her meeting with Jasnah was scheduled to begin. Not enough time to nap again or trade for spheres, but maybe enough time for a quick practice sketch?

A knock on the door alerted her to the presence of a servant outside, and Shallan called out her permission to enter. The servant held a fancy platter, upon which balanced a few delicate pastries.

“Courtesy of His Imperial Majesty Yanagawn the First, King of Azir,” the servant intoned. She then bowed strangely, one hand behind her back, in what must be a custom of their lands. The pose was actually rather striking. Shallan blinked once, taking a mental picture of the scene. Perfect. She could draw that while she waited for Jasnah.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching over to take the tray from the servant.

She’d completely forgotten that a part of the Azish delegation was still in Urithiru, working with Dalinar to iron out the intricacies of their code of law. Jasnah would no doubt have liked to be there as well. Alas, the new queen of Alethkar was in Thaylenah at the moment, nailing down a trading deal with their ally, Queen Fen. 

In any case, Shallan was more than thankful for the pastries. She bit down on one jelly-filled delicacy as the servant came back to take the tray from her. Mmmm, delicious. Nothing could spoil this taste.

Well, nothing except for the memory of one certain disastrous time she’d eaten jam and bread. As long as she tried not to think about that specific incident, she could fully enjoy the pastry. Yes, best not to imagine that familiar pain lancing through her chest…

“Shallan!”

Was that Pattern’s voice?

Wait, that pain she had been imagining was _real._

Shallan looked down, almost in surprise, to find that the servant had drawn a long knife and stabbed her through the ribs, right below her heart. She blinked, and brought her freehand up to touch the hilt of the blade protruding from her chest. 

Illusion? No. Oh _storms._

Blood dripped to the floor as the servant yanked the knife out, and Shallan bit back a scream. Her vision blurred and shifted. Thoughts flashed through her mind in rapid succession— how could she have been so _stupid_ , to allow anyone close to her like that, after what had happened with Kabsal, with Tyn, with— 

Stormlight! She needed stormlight, now. Why hadn’t she stopped to infuse her spheres after her stint as Veil today? She sucked in the light from the spanreed’s small gemstone but it was _not enough._

The assassin came at her again.

“Pattern!” Shallan cried, and the frantic humming from beside her intensified as her Shardblade materialized in her hand. For a moment, for just that moment, she needed to be able to _use_ it.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t become Radiant, or even Veil, because she _had no stormlight_. Why were her other selves never there when she actually needed them? Panic clawed at her chest. Her hands trembled, grip weakening on her Patternblade, that cursed sword which had torn her family apart. The assassin was moving to strike again, almost in slow motion, and Shallan couldn’t do anything to defend herself. Was she really so worthless?

A memory of a voice, sharp but kind. “ _I see only one woman here, and it’s the one who is standing up.”_

She didn’t think so. The girl who stood up was just another lie, wasn’t it? Another illusion...

_“No. Shallan, that has always been you. You just have to admit it.”_

Could she follow Wit’s advice? Could she admit it?

She _had_ to. If not now, then when?

Shallan’s resolve wavered, then solidified. She used that truth to prop herself up. That girl _was_ just herself— just Shallan, but stronger. That was someone Shallan could be without anything else to help her, because it was still _her_ , not anyone else. All she had to do was try.

And she _would_ try, because if she wanted to be useful to the people she loved, she had to learn to stand up for herself first.

So she thrust outwards in one of the sweeping blows Adolin had been teaching Radiant. The blade struck the assassin in the arm and Shallan saw the appendage turn ashen gray, its soul severed from its physical form. Something dropped from the assassin's limp hand, but the assassin didn’t stay to recover it, instead turning and dashing away, lithe figure out the door before Shallan could swing again.

Shallan’s blade clattered to the ground, fizzling back into Pattern, who began to vibrate in a series of contorted signals, distressed. He placed himself over her wound, covering it as if he could hold her together with his insubstantial form.

Shallan was beginning to feel lightheaded. She dropped to the floor, panting. Everything hurt, and it was— it was getting difficult to breathe.

“Pattern, get help,” she whispered.

He vibrated harder and spun away, but before he could make it to the door, someone else ran into the room. Shallan’s mind raced in time with her heart. If the assassin had come back to finish her off, she was doomed.

Pattern’s buzzing faded as he said something to the intruder that Shallan couldn’t quite make out. Then the buzzing grew stronger as he sped back to her side. The intruder seemed to be… smiling, for some sinister reason, as they too ran towards Shallan. Was this the end? Would Shallan die here?

“Pattern…!” Shallan mumbled weakly, reaching for her companion in desperation.

“Pastries!” the intruder cheered, reaching for the platter of sweets Shallan had dropped.

...What?

The intruder had in fact skidded over to the pastries and was now eating one, if stuffing the whole thing into your face in less than a second could be called eating.

Shallan felt as if her torso was on fire, and she was starting to think she might also be delusional.

“Help.” Shallan gasped.

“ ‘m geddin’ foo if,” said the intruder, through a mouthful of jelly and crumbs. “Hol’ on.”

And suddenly the stranger was glowing with stormlight. Small hands laid a surprisingly gentle touch on Shallan’s ribs as the girl exhaled, light seeping from her breath into Shallan’s torso. Shallan gritted her teeth. Her muscles began to knit back together, the wound vanishing beneath a new layer of skin.

She was starting to feel better already. This was clearly the Surge of Progression, which meant the intruder was—

Shallan sighed in relief as the wound finished healing. Then she focused on the figure in front of her. The intruder was a small girl with long-ish dark hair, and a somewhat familiar mischievous smile. This was the girl who had fought on their side at Thaylen City, when Dalinar had drawn the three realms together. She was an Edgedancer, wasn’t she? What was her name again?

“Thank you,” Shallan said. “I— ah, apologize for getting myself into that.”

The little Edgedancer ignored her and stuck another pastry in her mouth, chewing and swallowing rapidly before grabbing yet another one. They’d be gone soon, at this rate.

“Theeshe ‘re really good!”

For some reason, despite the circumstances, that brought a smile to Shallan’s face. Shallan snatched the last pastry from the tray before the girl could get to it, causing the girl to scowl and make a swipe at her prize. Shallan leaned back, just out of reach, and stuffed the pastry into her mouth like the girl had earlier. Sweet jelly and flaky crust filled her mouth. The girl was right, of course. These pastries _were_ good, and were just the thing to take one’s mind off an assassination attempt. Hopefully they weren’t poisoned. If they were, well, it wouldn’t make a difference. If Veil’s stormlight could burn away the alcohol she consumed, then this girl’s stormlight should be able to heal poison.

Shallan reached the end of her pastry just as the girl scarfed down the last of her three. They stared at each other, sitting together on the stone floor littered with crumbs and splatters of blood.

The girl stuck out her hand and pointed at herself. Shallan noticed that the girl’s safehand was uncovered, but the girl looked young enough that it wasn’t a problem.

“Lift,” the girl said.

“What?”

“That’s my name. Lift.”

“Oh. That’s… a nice name. I’m Shallan.”

Lift stood up and scrutinized Shallan, hands on her hips.

“You can’t be awesome, can you? No one else here can be awesome like me. Not even tight butt.”

Shallan blinked. “Tight butt?”

Lift scratched her arm. “You know. The big grey guy with the thundery voice who looks like he’s done too much work and now his butt is tight. Ol’ tight butt.”

Shallan’s eyes widened impossibly as she figured it out.

“You mean _Highprince Dalinar?_ ”

“Yeah, him. That’s what I call him.”

“Not to his face, hopefully?”

“Of course I say it to his face. What’s the point of giving someone a nickname if you don’t tell ‘em you’re using it?”

Shallan couldn’t help it. She giggled. If only she could have seen Dalinar’s expression after hearing that. It would have made for a great drawing. She glanced over at her desk and happened to see the spanreed sitting on it…

“My meeting!” Shallan gasped, scrambling to her feet. 

“Hey,” Lift said as Shallan rushed to set up the spanreed again. “Can I stay here for a bit? Everyone else is talking upstairs and it’s really boring.”

“Sure,” Shallan mumbled. In her rush, she knocked the spanreed’s pen to the floor and was forced to waste precious seconds retrieving it and setting it upright again. Then she realized that the spanreed’s sphere was unlit: she’d drained it in her panic when she’d been stabbed.

“Lift, could you…?” Shallan held up the sphere. Lift huffed in annoyance, but rekindled its light.

With the sphere back in place, the gem began flashing immediately, which meant Jasnah had been waiting for Shallan to respond. Shallan winced. Assassination attempt or not, it was never a good idea to keep Jasnah waiting.

Meanwhile, Lift strolled over to the empty pastry platter on the floor and kicked at it nonchalantly. It glided across the room much more smoothly than it should have, bouncing off the far wall and stopping back at Lift’s upraised foot. The girl grinned and kicked it again, and soon she was running a game of sorts, knocking the platter across the floor and catching it with her foot after it rebounded off the wall. There wasn’t much furniture in Shallan’s room, which gave Lift ample room to experiment.

Shallan knew she should tell Lift to stop wrecking the poor platter, but it honestly looked fun enough that Shallan wanted to join in. Nevertheless, she ignored the temptation and focused on the spanreed instead. Words began to form on the parchment in a flowing, controlled script.

_You’re late, Shallan._

Of course Jasnah would begin this conversation with a reprimand. 

Shallan winced. Should she tell Jasnah about the assassination attempt? That brought back thoughts of another terrible incident, an image of Jasnah on a wooden floor with a blade through her chest. Both sets of memories twined around each other, a vortex of impending panic. Did she have to think about this again? Couldn’t she just… put it out of her mind?

No, Shallan couldn’t let herself shove everything away. Not again.

 _Terribly sorry,_ Shallan wrote. _There was an assassination attempt. I was stabbed._

No response, for about half a minute. The clatter of Lift’s game filled the silence. Shallan threw a glance over and saw that Lift was getting creative— kicking the plate upwards and knocking it back down with her hands after it hit the wall again.

 _You healed from it immediately, I assume?_ Jasnah finally wrote back.

_No. I had no stormlight. I apologize._

Jasnah’s next words came in a rush, the pen moving much more quickly than usual.

_Are you alright? Do you need help?_

_I’m fine. The young Edgedancer happened to pass by. She healed me._

_Do you know the assassin’s identity or affiliation?_ Jasnah asked next, ever practical.

_No. They managed to escape._

Another pause. 

_Your penmanship is sloppy today,_ Jasnah wrote. From anyone else it would be an insult, but from Jasnah it was a sign that she liked you enough to expect more from you. Shallan sighed. It seemed that something as mundane as being _stabbed_ wasn’t enough to get Jasnah to give her a break.

 _Sorry,_ Shallan wrote. _I’m just tired. Not because of the stabbing. It must have something to do with all the w—_

Shallan paused. She shouldn’t be complaining about all the work she’d been given, honestly. The research was intellectually stimulating, as all Jasnah’s assignments were. It was just that it had become a bit tiring, of late, to keep up with not only Shallan’s work, but also Veil’s commitments and Radiant’s training. 

_—with all the progress I’ve been making,_ Shallan wrote instead, and hoped Jasnah wouldn’t take it as sarcasm.

“Perhaps,” Shallan ventured out loud as she waited for a reply, “I should create a version of myself that _enjoys_ having too much on my plate.”

Lift glanced at her and shrugged, then went back to spinning her literal plate across the room. 

Pattern buzzed on the desk, forming temporary creases in the Soulcast marble.

“Mmmm. Is that a joke? Or truth?”

Shallan turned back to the spanreed to find Jasnah writing a long paragraph. Best to let her finish. 

“That was a joke, of course,” Shallan said to Pattern. “I’m quite sure I don’t need another identity.” Veil and Radiant were more than enough. For now, and probably forever, if she didn’t want to lose herself again like she had in Alethkar. 

Besides, Radiant enjoyed most of what Shallan classified as work. Maybe she could just become Radiant whenever she had a meeting with Jasnah. Those two would definitely get along— after all, Shallan had drawn heavily from Jasnah’s personality when she had originally created Radiant.

Pattern hummed as the pen finished writing. Shallan glanced over at Jasnah’s words.

_Then I’ll expect you to report on your progress soon. As I’m sure you have gathered, accounts of the Hierocracy and its subsequent downfall may be vitally important to our success as the new Knights Radiant. The prejudices furthered by that incident are a large part of what we must overcome to establish ourselves and secure our reputation as the benevolent party in this war. I am interested in seeing the conclusions you have drawn from your readings._

Shallan took a quick, sheepish glance at the unorganized bits of information littering her notebook, and then at her near-empty summary page.

 _I’ll report at our next meeting,_ Shallan scribbled on the spanreed. _Or as soon as I finish organizing my thoughts._ _Anything else you need to tell me?_

 _Yes,_ came the reply. Shallan raised an eyebrow. What more could Jasnah have for her? This meeting was just one of many quick check-ins to monitor Shallan’s studies.

 _There have been reports of a strange occurrence in Kholinar,_ the pen transcribed. _I would like you to investigate._

Kholinar? Again? With the city overrun by the Voidbring— the Parshendi? Shallan raised her safehand to her heart, apprehension rising.

_Why? The city is lost. I’m sorry._

There was a pause before the pen began writing again.

 _No need to apologize, Shallan. Last month’s incidents were not your fault. Nor will I be offended by a mere statement of fact._

Another pause. Shallan could see it in her head-- Jasnah pausing to consider her words, hand held just above the paper’s surface, thoughts collecting at the tip of her pen and then dripping down to the page in a rush of flowing ink.

 _You know we have been searching for the Heralds,_ Jasnah wrote.

 _Yes?_ Shallan replied.

_A trusted source has informed us of rumors that a man with a Shardblade has been sighted in Alethkar, mumbling about the Desolations and the Knights Radiant. Such things have undoubtedly been more commonplace this past year, now that a Desolation has actually occurred. Still, the situation merits investigation._

_Why send me?_

It was ironic that the last time she’d been on a mission to Alethkar, she had volunteered for it, and had done so primarily to escape Jasnah’s attention.

_Like last time, your abilities as a Lightweaver will be needed. Unlike last time, you are simply scouting the area, not launching an attack— in other words, this mission should not be dangerous. It is also of note that you seem to need a break from your research._

So Jasnah _had_ noticed Shallan’s recent tiredness and distraction. Shallan resisted the urge to apologize again. Instead, she wrote out a quick affirmative, checked that there was in fact nothing else Jasnah wanted to tell her, then ended the conversation.

She couldn’t help but flop over onto the bed again, groaning. A choice between staying here with her research and journeying back to Alethkar… The answer should have been obvious. Her studies were important and interesting, and Shallan had no desire to return to that place where so many things had gone wrong. However, Jasnah herself had requested that Shallan take this mission, and Jasnah was rarely wrong. Besides, Veil’s contacts in the Ghostbloods could hardly fault her for her absence in Urithiru if Shallan had been sent all the way to Alethkar. It was a good excuse for both Veil and Shallan to take a break. Perhaps she really did need one.

Which reminded her of a more important drawing that she had to get started on. Here was another way she could be useful.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Lift.” Shallan dodged Lift’s platter as she made her way across the room to grab some parchment and charcoal from her closet. The platter was whizzing back and forth at a formidable speed now— the young girl had improved a great deal in her sport, considering that she’d only been at it for about five minutes.

Shallan sat down at her desk and began to sketch out the memory she’d taken earlier, dark curves outlining the servant’s posture and more importantly, her face.

Lift stopped the platter with a foot and came over to look, curious. Shallan figured she should talk to the girl. She let hands rove across the paper with practiced ease while she focused on conversing with her young visitor.

“So. Why are you in Urithiru, Lift?”

Lift shrugged. “Gawx wanted me to go meet other people.”

“Gawx? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Yeah. He’s a bit thick, but I like him.”

A smile bloomed on Shallan’s face as she considered that statement. A bit thick, but likeable… that reminded her of Adolin. Then again, it didn’t take much to remind her of Adolin. In any case, her husband would no doubt protest at that first part. The thought made her smile widen.

“He sounds like a nice friend,” Shallan said.

“He’s alright, I guess.” Lift continued kicking her plate.

As the plate clanged once more against the wall, an idea struck Shallan, surprising in its intensity. Perhaps what Shallan really needed was some time being herself. And to do that, she’d need to be near someone new— someone that Shallan wouldn’t need to impress, manipulate, charm, or do anything to that required resorting to a new identity. Someone so incredibly forthright that such machinations wouldn’t work on them, but someone that had already proved to be trustworthy.

Shallan put down her pen and turned to face her new friend.

“Lift. You said you were bored, right?”

Lift quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Shallan smiled. “Do you, perhaps, want to join me on an adventure?”


End file.
